The Taming of Billy Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  Once she left Nellie's house, she had planned to go over and say goodbye to Oggie.

  But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't know how he would react to her news. He was so different now. The old Oggie, she liked to think, would have yelled at her. The old Oggie wouldn't have wanted her to leave his town, because he thought of her as part of his family and he wanted his family nearby. Of course, she would have stood firm in her determination to move on. But something inside her would have been nourished and uplifted by his obvious desire to have her stay.

  The new Oggie, she feared, would do little more than wish her well. She didn't think she could bear that, so she took the coward's way. She decided she would visit him in a few weeks, when she came back to work out all those details that she and Billy would ultimately have to handle.

  Prudence returned to the house on Prospect Street

  . She finished the last of her packing. Then she called a nice hotel in Sacramento and got herself a reservation for that night.

  At five that afternoon, she put her bags in her car and headed out of town.

  * * *

  Everything went smoothly for Billy in Van Nuys. It turned out that Alexis's oldest daughter, Sheilah, was getting a degree in child development. She worked at a day-care center about six blocks from Bad Billy's. For a certain price, Billy could drop Jesse off there anytime. Sheilah gave him a list of trustworthy babysitters, so if he needed someone to help out at night, he only had to make a few calls.

  On Wednesday and Thursday, Billy left Jesse at day care. He spent from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon listening to a succession of bands. After that, he closeted himself with Alexis.

  "Sounds like you want a partner now, more than a manager," Alexis said, when he explained that he intended to start living in North Magdalene most of the time.

  "Yeah, I think you're right."

  "I'll buy in."

  "What? You got rich managing this place? Should I look closer at the books?"

  "You know the books are solid." Alexis seemed very pleased with herself. "And I have been saving, I admit it, hoping someday you'd be ready for this. I can get a good-size loan, too. And since I'm going to be doing most of the work, I figure you should give me a deal on my share of the buy-in."

  Billy looked around his cramped, dusty office. Once, he had lived for the place. "Getting Bad Billy's off the ground was the only time I ever worked hard in my life."

  Alexis leaned back in the extra chair, whipped out her nail board and started filing away. "But you haven't had the interest, the last couple of years."

  He knew she was right. "I guess it's time I moved on."

  She stopped filing. "Partners, that's what I want. You come down a few days, once or twice a month. Book the bands, go over the money situation. Maybe agree to get out your guitar now and then. What do you say?"

  "Sounds good."

  By late Thursday afternoon, they had worked out a basic agreement. Alexis said she'd get a hold of the lawyer they always used, have him put it all down in writing.

  Friday, Billy went to see his agent. The news was good there, too. Waverly had done a brisk business with Billy's most recent songs. A top country-western singer would use "Never To See You Again" as the title cut on her next album.

  Billy should have been on top of the damn world. He had his son, and a family he hadn't even realized he needed. His music was making him lots of money. The club he'd grown a little tired of would run along just fine with Alexis in charge. He could book the bands and cash the checks Alexis sent him. And live in the mountains most of the time, teaching Jesse the things he needed to know: how to hit the urinal, how to dress himself, how to move back and then up on a fly ball.

  What the hell more could he ask for?

  As soon as the question took shape, the answer followed: Prue.

  But he couldn't have Prue.

  Hell, he wouldn't have Prue. Not if she showed up at his door and begged him to take her back, on his terms, for as long as he wanted her.

  For the past few days now, that had become a fantasy of his – adolescent, yes, but nonetheless gratifying.

  A knock at the door. And when he opened it, Prue. Standing in a driving rainstorm – for some reason, in this fantasy, it was always raining hard. And Prue was shivering, her hands stuffed into the pockets of a dripping wet trench coat. Over her hair she'd tied a scarf, all soggy and drooping now, from the rain. Behind her water-spotted glasses, her eyes were fixed on him in abject appeal.

  "Oh, Billy. I can't live without you. Just give me one more chance. I'll do anything you want…"

  Of course, he would be tempted. Prue willing to do anything – that would be something.

  But he would hold firm. He would look her over good, from head to toe and back again. And then he'd shake his head.

  "Forget it, Prue. You blew your chance." And he'd close the door in her face.

  Unfortunately, after that fantasy, he'd always find himself remembering things he shouldn't let himself remember. Dancing with Prue in the living room of the house on Prospect Street

  . Or taking her hand at Sam's Thanksgiving dinner. Or the sight of her at the kitchen table in the morning, bending over her coffee cup, her fiery hair falling across her pale cheek. Or her blind look, with her glasses off, her face all soft and bewildered just before he would kiss her…

  It all went in a circle. The wanting. And the infantile fantasy of rejecting her – and the sweet, aching memories that rose up when the fantasy was through.

  It got him nowhere, he knew. The hard fact was, he didn't have her. And he had damn well better get used to not having her, because she wasn't coming back.

  Wednesday night and Thursday night, he stayed home, with Jesse. It was kind of a habit he'd acquired lately: staying home. And since he'd left Jesse in other people's care most of the day, it seemed important to give the kid his evenings, at least.

  His bungalow in Studio City had hardwood floors, perfect for toy trucks. They'd get down on the floor together, he and Jesse, and roll the trucks around. Funny, how quick those vroom-vroom sounds came back to a man. He and Jesse would vroom the trucks around and crash them into each other and laugh. They'd sing songs. And read stories. And by eight o'clock, Jesse would be off in dreamland.

  And Billy would be going nuts, trying not to think about Prue. Wanting to call the house in North Magdalene, just to see if she would answer, just to see if she was still there.

  By Friday night at eight-thirty, he gave in. He called. The phone rang four times. And the damn machine picked up. He heard her voice. "Hello, you have reached…" He listened to the mundane words, something dark and hungry moving inside him, something violent. Something lonely. When the beep came, he slammed the phone down.

  And then he picked it up and punched redial. He listened a second time to the message, to the sound of her that wasn't really her. Just an echo, captured on a machine.

  And this time, when the beep came, he said, "Prue. Damn you, Prue. Pick up."

  Silence. Endless. Maddening.

  He punched the disconnect button. Then he called Sheilah. She answered on the second ring. He told her he wanted to go over to the club for a few hours and asked which of the people on her baby-sitting list he should call first.

  She said what he'd hoped she might. That she had a mountain of studying to do and there was no reason she couldn't do it at his place and keep an eye on Jesse at the same time.

  * * *

  The band that night was glad to let Billy sit in. He played three sets with them, joining them at their table in between, laughing too loud at bad jokes, drinking a little more than he should have, maybe, trying to tell himself he was having a good time.

  He saw Sharlee, sashaying by in her red cowboy boots. She held her drink tray high and looked as happy as a heifer in an alfalfa field. She caught his eye and winked at him.

  Surprisingly, according to Alexis, Sharlee was working out just fine. "Bakes cookies
for the bartenders, can you believe it?" Alexis had told him. "And if someone's feeling low, she'll go and sit with them on her break, listen to their tale of woe. Everybody loves her. And she's always right on time for her shift…"

  Little Loretta was still around, too. And up to her old tricks, licking her lips and flashing her gorgeous teeth, rubbing those plump breasts against him when she served him his drinks. Maybe he played up to her a little more than he should have, because he'd had a few too many and he was here to forget a certain bossy, bug-eyed redhead.

  At one point, when things had started to get pleasantly hazy, he put his arm around Loretta and asked her how the world was treating her. She smiled up at him, dreamy-eyed, the way a woman ought to look at a man. "The world is treating me just fine, Billy. Just … spectacular."

  "Glad to hear it." He bent his head a little and she lifted hers and all of a sudden, he was kissing her.

  The girl really went all out. When he came up for air, the guys at the table were applauding. With a mock bow, he dropped into his chair and wiped the lipstick off his mouth. Then he picked up the shot of Black Jack she'd brought him and knocked it back. He squinted against the heat of it, going down.

  When he opened his eyes again, Loretta had moved off to bring more drinks – and Sharlee was standing over near the platform stairs that went down to the dance floor, glaring at him. He frowned back at her, wondering what the hell she thought she should be giving him dirty looks about.

  "Women," he muttered under his breath.

  Soon enough, Loretta was back. "Dance with me, Billy."

  Now, how could he refuse a sweet request like that? He went down the platform stairs with her and took her in his arms. They danced two jukebox numbers, close and slow. She rubbed herself against him, making sure he got the message just in case he'd missed it so far.

  He pulled her closer, fitting her up and into him. She was pretty and she smelled good, even if she didn't smell like Prue.

  Too young, though, he knew that.

  But hell. Lately he was breaking all his own rules anyway. He'd gone and said he'd marry Prue. Stone sober, he had offered her marriage.

  Not that it mattered, since Prue had turned him down.

  The second song ended. But Loretta hung on, offering up her full, soft little mouth.

  Some shred of sense must have remained with him, because he stepped back, and said, "Thank you, darlin'," and headed the hell away from her.

  Either he dodged through the crowd faster than she could keep up, or she got wise and decided not to follow him. Whichever it was, when he came up the stairs beside the main bar and ducked into the door that would take him back to the safety of his office, she was nowhere around.

  He strode on, through the relative quiet of the deserted storeroom, shoving through the door to his office at last and dropping into his desk chair without even bothering to turn on the light. He slumped down in the chair, low.

  With the door partway open, he could hear the music from the main part of the club, not loud enough for his taste, but pretty clear. The band was starting in again. Their final set. They had a hell of a fiddle player, name of Charlie Parvenu. Damned if old Charlie couldn't make those strings scream.

  Billy swung his boots up on the desk, leaned back and closed his eyes.

  "Billy." The soft voice came from the doorway.

  He glanced over. Sure enough.

  "Billy, you shouldn't have just left me there."

  He told her, slow and clear, "You go on now, Loretta, get on out of here."

  The light from the storeroom shone on her hair. Dark red hair. Longing sliced through him, sharp and singing, like a knife. Like Charlie Parvenu whipping that bow over those strings.

  The girl came on, into the darkness with him, carefully closing the door behind her, shutting out the light.

  "I told you to go," he said one more time.

  "But I don't want to go." She was leaning against the door. He could see the shadow of her there.

  Loneliness. All through him.

  He heard her moving, the soft tread of her boots on the floor, coming toward him. Farther away now, that singing fiddle, the noise from the club.

  Things sliding on the desk as she pushed them out of her way. And then she hoisted herself up, so she was sitting there, on the desktop, her thigh against his legs. He rocked back, dropped his booted feet to the floor.

  She laughed, low. Knowing. And then she was bending forward, the unfamiliar scent of her all around him, her mouth opening on his, her hands fanning out against his chest.

  He wondered in a distant way if he might possibly be able to get it up with her. After all, she did have red hair and he had an imagination. Maybe it would be like him and Jesse and the toy trucks, like the vroom-vroom sound that came right back to a man, even if it had been over thirty years since he did it last. Because that's what he felt like. Like he was playing some game he'd grown out of long ago.

  Her mouth sucked his and her hungry, seeking hands moved downward. In a minute, she was going to find out that he wasn't as involved as he should have been. He wondered how the hell he was going to handle that.

  But he didn't have time to wonder long, because right then the door swung back and the overhead light burst on, blinding him.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  « ^

  Loretta gasped and jerked back, bumping the desk, and then dropping with an undignified, "Oof!" to the floor.

  "Billy Jones, I am ashamed of you." Sharlee was standing in the doorway.

  Billy rubbed his blinded eyes. "What the hell?"

  Sharlee wasn't finished. "Didn't you learn a darn thing from what happened to me?"

  "Huh?"

  "It's a pity. It's a crying shame. What you are doing here tonight is only going to make things worse."

  Loretta came up then, spitting mad. "You nosy little bitch. Get out of here. Now."

  Sharlee planted her hands on her hips. "Don't you get nasty with me, Loretta. Don't you even try it."

  "Why, you…" Loretta started toward Sharlee.

  Billy stood. "Loretta."

  Loretta turned and looked at him, her eyes a little wild, her lipstick smeared down to her chin. "I'm getting rid of her. Now."

  He wiped his own mouth. "No."

  Loretta frowned. "What?"

  "You'd better go." His palm was greasy pink. "Take the night off, if you want to."

  "But, Billy—"

  He put up that lipstick-smeared hand. "It wasn't a good idea, Loretta."

  "But I thought you—"

  "Let it go, Loretta. Sharlee did you a favor, I promise you."

  She stared at him, caught now between fury and incredulity. He shook his head.

  "Fine," she said. "Just fine." And she whirled on her heel and marched for the door. Sharlee slid to the side as she flounced out.

  There was a smashed-looking box of tissues on the corner of his desk. Billy yanked one out and wiped the lipstick off his hand, hoping that Sharlee would follow Loretta and get lost. But he might as well have whistled for the moon.

  "You love Prudence," Sharlee said. "How can you let some other woman crawl all over you?"

  Billy dropped to his chair again.

  Sharlee demanded, "How can you do that? It's revolting, is what it is."

  All at once he was weary, right down to his bones. "Sharlee, leave me be. I've had enough for one night."

  "But I was there. I saw what was happening between you and Prudence. I thought it was so beautiful, you and her and little Jesse. Didn't it work out, is that it?" Her round Kewpie-doll eyes brimmed with honest concern.

  "Sharlee…"

  "Well. Didn't it?"

  "No. It didn't work out."

  "Oh. Oh, how sad…" She took a step toward him. "Maybe you want to talk about it?"

  "No, thanks."

  "You listened to me for a week straight. Now I've learned to listen. I'm not so bad at it. And I really don't mind."

 
"Sharlee. Thanks. But no thanks."

  "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  Still, she wouldn't go. "Maybe it will work out, after all. They say true love always finds a way."

  He shook his head.

  Sharlee let out a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, Billy. Life can be so … disappointing."

  "Good night, Sharlee."

  Her cute rosebud of a mouth quivered at the corners. "I'm … sorry, Billy."

  He said nothing more, just sat there, waiting for her to give up and go. When she finally did, he went over and turned off the light again. Then he sat back down in the dark, swung his feet onto the desk and listened to that screaming, far-off fiddle until the last note died.

  At his house, he gave Sheilah a fifty and thanked her for helping out. Then he went to the room he'd put Jesse in, just to see that his son was all right.

  He found Jesse dreaming. His feet moved and so did his little mouth. Billy bent closer, wondering what a one-year-old would dream about.

  He caught one word, "Woo."

  That was enough. He turned and went quietly out the way he had come.

  * * *

  Billy and Jesse returned to North Magdalene the next day. They got in around dinnertime. On Main Street

  they were closing up the booths for something called the Christmas Carnival, that had evidently taken place that day. Billy was hungry, so he stopped to get a hot dog from a booth that hadn't closed yet.

  Marnie Jones waited on him. As she squirted mustard on the bun, she reminded him of the kids' Christmas show at the town hall.

  "Seven sharp," she said. "But you need to get there by six-thirty, to get a good seat."

  "I don't think I'll make it. Sorry." He handed her the money and she passed him the hot dog.

  "Tell Prudence, then, okay?"

  He just looked at her.

  She made a face. "Oh. I forgot. She left town, right?"

  "Right." Jesse started grabbing for the hot dog. "Gotta go," Billy said.

  "Sure. Okay." She made the words sound like an expression of sympathy.

  He turned and walked away.

  The house was cold, the air in there icy and strange. Billy built a fire and turned on the heater, which helped a little.